Mashiara
by Psycho Goddess
Summary: Set at the beginning of "The Great Hunt", Lan watched Nynaeve from above, and contemplates the woman that has disrupted his life. One shot piece, please take a few minutes to read it.


Set during the early pages of _The Great Hunt_, after Lan gives Nynaeve his ring. The group is still at 
    
    the Sheinar border. Just a one shot Lan reflection piece on his impossible relationship with Nynaeve. 
    
    The timeline is important, because it applies only to that general time in the series, obviously. The 
    
    unfortunate product of too much Blue Rodeo. As usual, reviews are appreciated.
    
    Disclaimer: The WoT belongs to Robert Jordan, the lyrics to "Bulletproof" belong to whoever owns 
    
    them, and the writing is mine. I am working on the third chapter of "A Missed Stitch", and it should 
    
    be expected by next weekend. I hate having the computer only on the weekend. 
    
    ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~
    
    _Tell me one more time again _
    
    _Just like I didn't hear you_
    
    _Like I don't know what's going through your mind,I do_
    
    _I play the same game too_
    
    _I know it's hard to stop_
    
    _Even when you want to_
    
    *~*
    
     Lan stared at the figure crossing the courtyard. Secrets placed a burden on her shoulders, 
    
    but she never let their weight show. Yet the way she walked betrayed her thoughts. Nynaeve may 
    
    be a woman of strong disposition, but even she only managed that ramrod straight pose when she 
    
    was hoping to fool someone, usually herself. He wished he could learn them, to help her ease the 
    
    weight. But he never could. From the purpose in her stride, she was likely muttering about wool 
    
    headed men.
    
     Her braid was tossing to and fro, like an angry cat twitching its tail in warning. The image of 
    
    that dark hair down past her shoulders flashed into his mind, but he repressed it. He was a man, not 
    
    some half grown lad. He had absolutely no intention of concerning himself with Nynaeve al'Meara. He 
    
    couldn't afford to.
    
     He was bonded to Moiraine, and that was as simple as it got. Even if he wished do be 
    
    dissolved of his vow, and Light the urged burned at him, she would not. And she would have every 
    
    right not to. There was no reason for her to even consider the thought. Though he did find himself 
    
    glad she was not of the Green Ajah. What was he thinking? He was Moiraine's _Warder_, and he was 
    
    to die before endangering her. 
    
     But that was no longer true. Nynaeve wore his ring, and he would die to honour his vow to 
    
    her. If it were to come down to his duty to Moiraine or his promise to Nynaeve, he would go to the 
    
    Wisdom, damning his soul the entire way. And grinning like a fool to see her safe.
    
     But he could never let her know. She was his _mashiara_, beyond his reach. He had meant 
    
    the term, but part of him knew that the word would likely stiffen her resolve to love him. He was a
    
    fool, a pure fool. He could not pretend, even to himself, that what he offered could possibly honour 
    
    her, despite her protests. Nynaeve deserved more then he could offer. And he would not dress her in 
    
    widow's garb. A life of love was not for him. 
    
     She had accepted it as easily as she could, and would not talk of it. But every time he stole 
    
    a glance at her, he could see her stiffen. Every word she said to him cut more then any wound. She 
    
    was suffering, but she would not admit it. And it hurt him to see it, to turn away from her instead of 
    
    holding her tightly. But he would never let her know. It was a game, a game where nobody won and 
    
    the only outcome was heartbreak. 
    
     But there were times it was worth it. The nights where he snuck into her room, and 
    
    watched her slowly breathe. She never knew he was there, and he could linger in her presence. 
    
    But he had stopped that, the night he saw a path of fresh tears staining her cheeks. Perhaps she 
    
    was not as immune to his words as he had hoped. What he was doing to her could not be explained. 
    
    It was the ultimate irony, a vicious cycle he would not break. To save her pain, he caused it. And it 
    
    hurt him more then he thought possible.
    
    *~*
    
    _Now the moon lights up your face and I can see you're crying
    You never liked me to see you cry, it's true
    I've done some crying too
    You know, the hardest part about it
    Is trying to hide it from you_
    
    
    *~*
    
     Before her, he had never thought of a woman that way. Sure, he had looked once or twice,
    
     but it wasn't in his blood. He had duty, the safety of others on his shoulders. It left little time for 
    
    romance. But somehow that woman had snuck into his heart, and seemed completely oblivious to it. 
    
     Perhaps it had been the way she took nonsense from nobody, even Aes Sedai. That took a 
    
    strength he admired. Or perhaps it was the way she seemed unaware of how beautiful she was. She 
    
    was no village halfwit looking for a man to protect her. She took it upon herself, and would never 
    
    admit she was wrong. She was one of the strongest women he had ever met, and with a sense of 
    
    obligation. There was no way to deny it. He loved her.
    
     And that was why he hurt her. That was why he told her there was no hope. Perhaps if he 
    
    said it often enough he would begin to believe it. He doubted it though. She had left her mark on him 
    
    long ago, and time would not change the fact. It could not. 
    
    *~*
    
    _It would be great to be so strong_
    
    _I never needed anybody's help to get along_
    
    _But we're so scared of the silence and the tricks that we use_
    
    _O, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised_
    
    _I don't want to lie about it, I'm not bulletproof_
    
    *~*
    
     She was going to Tar Valon, away from him and the danger he brought. The White Tower 
    
    would protect her, from any danger that was to come. And from him. He should have sent her 
    
    already. Moiraine would not have objected if he presented it the right way. He could send her away 
    
    until he died, or another man had taken her heart. He could stay away from her until this ridiculous 
    
    game was nothing but a memory in her mind. But then he could not see her, and the thought tore at
    
    his mind.
    
    _*~*_
    
    _Well I finally found the way to hide from all your glances_
    
    _'til the waiting game we play is through_
    
    _I can, but what's the use_
    
    _When all I really want to do is hide out with you?_
    
    *~*
    
    Lan watched the figure crossing the courtyard. Secrets placed a burden on her shoulders, 
    
    but she never let their weight show. Yet the way she walked betrayed her thoughts. Nynaeve may 
    
    be a woman of strong disposition, but even she only managed that ramrod straight pose when she 
    
    was hoping to fool someone, usually herself. He wished he could learn them, to help her ease the 
    
    weight. But he never could. From the purpose in her stride, she was likely muttering about wool 
    
    headed men. And she would be right.
    
    *~*
    
    _Tell me one more time again I guess I didn't hear you_
    
    _And I don't know all the secrets that you keep inside_
    
    _I tried the same thing too_
    
    _But they all come pouring out of me when I'm talking to you_
    
    _It would be great to be so strong_
    
    _You never needed anybody else's help to carry on_
    
    _But I'm not waking up each morning with forgiveness I can use_
    
    _No I'm careless and I'm cruel, but I'm still easily bruised_
    
    _But I'm so tired of lying about it, I'm not bulletproof_
    
    _No, and I'm not going to lie about it, I'm not bulletproof_


End file.
